To Become One
by Beast Boy's Swivel Chair
Summary: Being a villian didn't seem like a bad idea, until he became one


**Author's Note: This is a nifty little oneshot I thought I would write. It may sound confusing at first, but just stick with it. I promise it will all make sense…to an extent. Oh, and if I got the character's history wrong (I'm not gonna say his name, just to keep you in suspense, lol), bear with me. I couldn't find his true past, so I improvised. I hope it makes sense. **

**Disclaimer: I hate these things…

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**To Become One

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There are those who resent my actions. There are those that honor my actions. There are even those that worship my actions. But, as any villain, I have regrets. I never got into this for the glory. Nope. Rarely is that the case, from what I have seen. I didn't get into this as a spy for some organization. Again, rarely is that the case. But I didn't get into this for thrills, money, fame, or any other "common" factor. It wasn't really about me. At first.

There is a reason why I wear my mask. I have an identity I want to keep secret. If I am discovered, I will be killed. Without a thought, my enemies will murder me, and all I am attached to. I have friends, of course. Allies. But they are like me. To each his own. You have problems? You deal with them yourself. You don't rely on friends unless they are involved in this somehow. You can't drag them into your affairs. It may cost them their lives as well, and it is never worth the risk. So I stand alone, the only barrier of protection being the film of spandex covering my face. And someday, it won't be enough, I know.

But I can cross that bridge when I come to it. For now, I need to focus on just why I became who I am today. My family was the main reason. My godforsaken, broken, trashed piece of crap family. I hated them. I hated each and every one of them. My father. My mother. My brother. My two sisters. All of them, I despised. And yet, I changed myself to help them. Don't ask why. Even I don't know the answer to that. They needed someone, someone to save them from the pit they had dug and fallen into. I had yet to fall in that pit, and so, I was assigned to be the one to reach out my hand and help each and every one of them climb the steep grade back to safety, to freedom. I was not officially appointed the job. My relatives don't even know it is me under that black mask. And I hope they never find out.

My father was a drug dealer, one of the most notorious in Jump. My mother was an alcoholic, rarely being able to stand up by the afternoon. My brother was in and out of juvenile hall for gang fights his entire life. My sisters were whores, waiting on the streets to be paid. I was a good kid…to an extent. My grades sucked, my life sucked, but at least my sanity stayed intact. At least, in my opinion. Sure, I would have to rob gas stations and 7-11s every now and again, but it was all for a good cause. Just because my family wasn't the best didn't mean we weren't allowed to eat. My younger siblings needed to be taken care of. My dad wasn't going to do it. My mom wasn't capable of it. So it was up to me.

At first, they didn't really care that there was a meal on the card table for them every night. They just ate in silence and went to do their thing. But slowly, my siblings started to come around. My sisters stayed away from the streets and put their noses into work. My brother settled down a bit, hanging out at cafés instead of alleys. My mom slowed her drinking, pitching in with meals every now and again. My dad didn't change all that much. I didn't expect him to. The only thing I noticed was that he looked at me. Really looked at me. Instead of his normal passing by with a glance, he would stop, stare into my eyes, and say "hello" or something like that before going on his way. For once, I made him proud.

And so I continued. It took a year, but finally I acquired my own uniform, if that's what you want to call it. I didn't buy it, but I didn't really steal it either. Merely borrowed it. I will return it one day, I promise. One day, my sisters will find steady jobs, and will have families of their own. One day, my brother will stay away from those bad kids once and for all, and will finally find his way in life. One day, my mom will put the bottle down all together and live the life she had always dreamed. And, maybe one day, when my dad gets old and the drug dealers kick him out of their circle, maybe one day my dad will straighten up and own up to the mistakes he made in his life.

But I'm not getting my hopes up.

After I started getting used to the whole thief thing, I gained a bit of respect for those who made a living out of it. I mean, after all, it was fun. It got the adrenaline pumping, made you feel all badass, and it put food on the table, literally. And one could get used to the idea of causing mayhem and confusing the law enforcement.

So I grew into it. I became better, stealthier, sneakier, and quieter. I gained the experience of a veteran thief, and I liked it. I felt like I was meant to steal. That I was meant to be the bad guy. That is, until the previous owner of my suit found out who took it. Needless to say, he was thoroughly pissed. He fought me for it, but I always got away at the last second. Though I may be one to start a fight, I'm smart enough to run before the opponent finishes it. He hasn't gotten his suit back yet, but I'm betting he will soon.

And it made me think. I thought about what exactly I was doing. What road I was traveling. Was I becoming like my father? I enjoyed the thrill of causing panic, of frightening people, of getting what I needed and wanted without paying a cent. Just like my dad. Was I really turning into the true stereotypical criminal? Was I really crossing to their side, with lack of morals and all? Already I had endangered several people. Was I willing to risk more?

No.

Just yesterday, four years after I started my escapade, I hung up my cape. Technically. That Boy Wonder is going to be happy to find his suit, belt and all, back in its case where it belongs. My sisters have jobs. They are helping provide for us now. My brother hasn't left his cafés yet, but I have a feeling he will soon. My mother hasn't stopped drinking, though she isn't passed out on the couch every night anymore. My dad hasn't changed yet, but he seems even more proud of me than the day I started to rob others. And I can live with that. No longer am I Red X, the criminal who was losing his morals. Now I'm just me, trying to fix my own morals and my family's. And I hope I'm doing a good job.


End file.
